To my Dearest Friend

my beloved

Yves Montague  

The moon shines on the smiles of the people I wish I could smile a real smile with. The three others are chanting La Donna e mobile echoing through the streets of Paris while my heart is echoing caro nome, One sentence talking about now women are lying miscreants and one sentence in my mind talking about this burning love. This burning love, the same beautiful, meaningful aria over and over again, intrupted by the ego of the three others. I know the english translation of the beautiful aria.

Sweet name, you who made my heart throb for the first time

You must always remind me, the pleasures of love!

My desire will fly to you on the with of thought

And my last breath will be yours, my beloved

Such a tender message in so little words, a reflection of an emotion we all want to feel but simaltniously are too frightened to feel, or at least that is and will always be the case for me. This threatening, inhumane love that burns up everything. This flood that I try to hide from the scared citizen of my heart who do not know how it happened, who do not undestand how I trusted him with my heart and still I would give it to him in a heartbeat. I smile, but still my last breath will be yours, my beloved.

We arrive at the house. Dinner at last. And perhaps also some peace of mind, Who am I even kidding, I will not get peace of mind till I die, my mind is an everchanging empire at war with itself, my last breath will be yours, my beloved. Dinner is served, and it seems like there will be a side of Cyril's and Émile's vulgarity. They kiss, which I am fine with when you would insist of doing it but it's not even normal for.... regular couples, especially when eating. They're incredibly touchy, I want to tell them to get a room while I do not want to imagine what they would do there. Yves, stop it, you are making yourself more frustrated.  I feel such disdain for the way they display their relationship, it's not subtle at all. It is utterly vulgar, not classy and I would be also be abhorred if it would have been a women and a man, or not Cyril. Well, maybe not, my own feelings betray me all the time, whenever I want to grab them they seem prefectly normal only to surprise me with the horrible heat that is burning my hands whenever I try to understand myself. It's really not because of my jealousy, well perhaps a bit. But I still find it in bad saste. I sigh perhaps the food being so exceptionally good will make up for it.

We are sitting in the sitting room, trying to keep my heart empty as I look at CyriI while inhale the smoke from my cigarette, burning my smouldering inside, Cyril always said I have an elegant way of smoking, I am still not sure what he meant by it. Cyril looks at me and starts to speak.

'Yves, I need your opinion.' He says with a smile. 'Or course what is it?'I respond 'So I am planning on buying a ring for my dearest Émile.' My dearest Émile, a part of my soul drowns again, keep it on Yves, don't throw away the work on your mask, Émile is now his dearest. My last breath will be your my love. But while I am breaking down Cyril continues, 'And I was asking myself, what stones mean love?I thought you might know. You always knew those things.' I nod and simply start my sentence without any emotion, or at least I try. 'I would choose a garnet, diamonds or a ruby. Rubies are extremely popular as wedding stones.' I say finishing with a slight smile. Cyril smile and says in a loud voice. 'Than a ruby it shall be my love!' Émile walks into the room. 'Are you serious?' He asks while sitting down on cyril's lap. 'more than serious' Cyril responds as he gives him a kiss in his neck

I feel naseaus, this must be a dream, that kiss... the very same place as he would kiss me every morning. It's no infinetely strange to see myself, but just a little different. I hate how I would have looked, I hate myself. My heart seems to have stopped and my eyes seem to have given up on trying not to cry. The tightrope I was walking has broken, now I can hold on to it. Desperate not to fall in, or I can let it go and accept my demise, perhaps that would be easier. Émile kisses him, tenderly but passionately. I need to let go, my hands are burning up from the red rash made by the rope. Let go Yves. Let go now, LET GO!

I stand up and walk towards the door as I walk away another piece of me dies, their journey to the underworld will be heavy. But I refuse to cry, I refuse to feel, there will be no expression on my face. 'Yv-Yves'? I hear from the room but I choose to ignore it I grab my hat and open the door. The cold wind and rain welcomes my sorrow with it's cold embrace. I walk onto the cold lonely streets or Paris, only the lonely men dwell on the streets to find a women of easy virtue or perhaps a men even. Somebody of easy virtue, I almost feel like one, how does their heart survive, I believed he loved me, has he ever? the cold wind slices through your coat and takes away any tears you could cry. 'Yves Wait!!

My last breath will be yours, my beloved.

I turn around, it's Cyril, as I expected. 'Why? Give my one good reason to wait!! just one' I yell. 'I...I lov' he tries to say before I interrupt him, 'You, YOU love ME? Are you serious?' 'I don't know what to say Yves.' he says, he seems extremely desperate. 'Understandable because there is absolutely nothing to say anymore. You've chosen, probably a long time ago. And you have waited for me to get angry, Just so you don't have to feel guilty, you have waited for me to be angry, don't deny that. And I am fine with being the villian in your eyes Cyril but I will not stand by the grave of our love and weep. I will not tell you that I do not love you, I will not lie, nor to you or myseld. You are selfish and even when I see that I want to love all of you. I would not trade you for anything.' The tears are flooding iside me but none of them are leaving my eyes 'I wouldn't' he says 'Lies' I hiss, 'Look at where and with whom you live, look at how he moves, you made another Yves. Specially for you, made by and for you.' 'You have no right to be this angry Yves? You denied my love.' he says

'When?' I ask, desperate for an answer. 'When?! Answer me' He does not. 'You know what, if you love yourself so much, here.' I grab the case of the acrostic rings from my coat. and throw the one symbolising Cyril on the ground in front of him. 'Have your own love. I don't want it.' I say with the tears in my voice. I take a deep breath but still, my last breath will be yours, my beloved. 'Buy something beautiful from it!' I scream with pain, hate and arrogance in my voice.